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“I didn’t lay a hand on her.”
“Not yet, but you were eye-fucking her raw.”
“Yeah, you’re a moron if you think that’s the same thing.”
Jay scoffed and flapped his hand dismissively.
They were close, occasionally in their life they’d been inseparable, but in a lot of ways, they couldn’t be more different. Zach was dark like their dad; Jay was fairer, like their mom. Zach had their father’s build, with some bulk to it, and Jay had a leaner frame. They spent about the same amount of time working out, and for Zach that effort translated to broad shoulders and good contour. The best Jay could achieve was ‘ottermode.’
Girls liked ottermode, too, of course. Jay didn’t have trouble finding female companionship. But he still whined just about every time they worked out together.
As for personality, Zach was, he guessed, a typical firstborn, who’d done okay in school, tried to make his parents proud, was judicious in his rebellions and risks. He was hardly a goody-goody, but he tried to play out the consequences of his antics before he got up to them.
He was the kid their parents could trust. Thus, he was the kid they noticed less.
Jay, on the other hand, went off like a rocket every chance he got. He’d blown off so much school he’d almost missed graduating. Worse, he’d gotten arrested three times in his teens, all for stupid peace-disturbance and vandalism bullshit that had eventually resulted in their father—extremely scary when he wanted to be, though he’d never hit either of them—putting Jay up on a wall and shouting in his face that if he brought trouble down on the family or the club by being a reckless idiot, he’d have neither family nor club left.
Zach preferred being taken for granted to being the target of their father’s ire, but it did sort of sting, a little, when their mom came up behind their furious father and tried to smooth things over. That dynamic, Dad yelling and Mom giving hugs after, was Jay’s.
Zach got plenty of hugs, too. Both his parents had always made him feel loved and important. But still, when he was a kid, the focus on Jay’s fuckups, especially those moments when Mom pulled Jay close and whispered words to quiet their father’s storm, had felt like something Zach was missing.
It was stupid. It seemed even stupider now that he was an adult. Jay thought Zach had had the better path; he always insisted that Zach was the favorite. Jay resented the disparity between how much they each got into trouble. But Jay was the catalyst for his own trouble. And he could not begin to explain why he was always looking for a fuse to light.
He was like a cat knocking things off a shelf. Just because he could.
“You know you have to go in there and apologize to her, right? There’s no way Eight’s gonna let you out of that. We’re in this diner several times a year.” First time that cute server had been working when they were, though.
There was an ancient ice chest along the side of the building, the kind filled with loose cubes to be scooped out. Jay kicked it hard. “I just grabbed her ass. It’s not like I finger-fucked her.”
“Close enough. I saw how you had her, Jay. It was fuckin’ rude. Even most of the girls in the clubhouse would’ve flinched, unless they were already on your lap. That ain’t it, Jay, and you know it.”
“She wouldn’t’ve had a problem ifyou’dtouched her ass.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She was eye-fucking you as hard as you were doing to her.”
“Maybe. Doesn’t matter. If I’d shoved my fingers between her legs without permission, I bet I’d be the one who looked like I pissed Sprite all over myself. Thing is, Iwouldn’t’ve fucking grabbed her.”
“Of course not. Fuck you. I’m so sick of ...”
He faded out without finishing. Zach didn’t push for the rest of the sentence; he’d heard it often enough. Some variation ofI’m so sick of living in your shadow. Someday maybe Jay would figure out that shit like today was not the right way to step out of that shadow, if it even existed.
But they’d had that talk often enough. “You know they’re not gonna bring our food out here. We go back in and you apologize, and behave, or we don’t eat—and maybe Eight puts you in the truck with Chris.”
Jay gave him a look at that last bit; it hadn’t occurred to him they might put his bike in the truck and make him ride with the prospect.
He resisted for a few more seconds, glowering, then finally huffed. “Fine. You know, people think outlaws get to do anything they want, but there are more nannies and rules lawyers in this goddamn club than in the fucking military.”
“Don’t say that around Dex, man. Closest we’ve ever come to the military isCall of Duty.” Zach put his hand on his brother again, but this time, his hold was encouraging. “Come on. Go make nice with the cute server and let’s get some grub. You know Eight’s gonna want to stop again before we even cross the state line, and we’ll be roasting on some nowhere side road while he un-gimps his leg, so let’s enjoy the cool and food while we can, yeah?”
“Yeah, fine.” They started to walk back to the front of the diner, but Jay drew up short after a few steps. “Fuck! The fucking soda is gluing my jeans to my legs.”
Zach laughed. “A good sign that a chick doesn’t want what you’re doing is when she pours something in your lap. Maybe tuck that factoid away for the future. And be glad it was cold Sprite and not hot coffee.”
“Asshole,” Jay muttered with grudging affection.
“Reprobate,” Zach replied.
